GuessASketch
by AnOtic
Summary: Irino Sora is a sixteen year old boy who’s still afraid of the dark and just can’t seem to fit in. :: It might take a long time, but life can make sense if you look at it through a red plastic frame. [The usual: AU, SoRiku, AkuRoku, LeonCloud] :hiatus:
1. Caput I: Leon

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Hearts – I think we all know what would be happening if I did. And it wouldn't be G-rated.

:3

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**Guess-A-Sketch 01**

**AnOtic**

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-

-

"I have something to say."

-

It's that time of day when the sun is settling just above ground level. Its rays shoot desperately across the land, speeding straight through the slits of my window blinds and casting themselves in streaks on my floor. Strips of glowing orange light line the arm of my chair. Squinting against the soon-to-be-sunset, I bring my gaze up to the petit brunet across from me. His wide eyes travel all around the room, taking in every object they can as if a bookshelf or a lamp might give him his next words.

"I think I've forgotten it, though," he speaks carefully, a confused expression stamped onto his face. Those blue eyes fix on me, and he nods, announcing loudly, "Yeah, I forgot."

An annoyed twitch strikes me in the cheek; I manage to disguise it through a one-sided, fleeting smile, and nod to him. "Take your time, then," I say gently.

The boy smiles, too; he says something in a corroborating tone, and then goes back to thinking. I've already stopped listening – it's part of my job to know when I absolutely have to hear something and when I can get away with ignoring them into oblivion.

My clients, that is.

I reach up and brush back a few strands of my own brown hair. My bangs rebelliously swing right back into place, so I give up and settle for watching the window again. The bumpy mountain line is cradling all that awful sunlight. Still, it spills over and floods the town scene, casting elongated, disproportionate shadows on everything it can grasp.

There is a disgustingly noisy truck driving in the street below my office. I can hear it, and imagine I can smell the dirty exhaust fumes. I think to close the window, but when I look to it, the job has already been done for me.

That makes the truck even more disgusting and noisy.

"… at school, though."

_Shit_.

I pull myself to attention again, and raise an eyebrow at the boy. His head is bobbing up and down some more, and I mirror him in my own, curt way. He gasps suddenly, and his eyes go even wider. He whacks his own palm with the side of his fist, with the attitude of someone who has just received an epiphany.

"I know what it is now!" He exclaims obviously.

"What?" I pretend like I'm not suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, get up, and walk out.

"Roxas!"

He's grinning at me now. All his little teeth are showing, and I'm impressed at how white they are. He watches me as if he expects me to say something, and I figure I should respond.

"Who's that?" I ask. I try to sound interested.

"My twin! He moved back from Twilight Town, where he lived with our dad. Something went on there. I think he got kicked out, but he's not talking about it," the young teen squints with only his right eye, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"What makes you think that?"

"I heard Mum on the phone with Dad… she said something like, 'You're overreacting, this isn't really necessary,' and they were arguing for a while. But then she got off the phone and told me Roxas was coming home. For no reason, she said. He's just moving back with us."

"And how long have your parents been apart?"

"About ten years?" The boy makes that thinking face again. "No, nine. I was seven at the time."

"And your sister moved with him at that time?"

"My sister?" The boy frowns at me. "I don't have a sister."

_Oh_. I pause awkwardly. "Your twin – is a boy?"

He grins again, laughing loudly while he nods. "Roxas moved with our dad when he left, yeah."

"When he was living with you, did you two share a room?"

He catches on now, and his eyes go wide again. "Oh, yeah, we did! And we had this nightlight, so I wasn't scared. I remember I used to be afraid of things, but I would just climb up onto Roxas' bed, and he'd let me sleep with him."

I nod like I care, but it's not too far from the truth. "So you saw heartless even back then, too?"

"Yes, I think."

I shift a little at this, think for a second. His most recent confessions are something I'm still trying to wrap my head around. He's a sixteen year old boy with a compulsive fear of the dark, scared of monsters in the shadows. He always stresses that they have no hearts, I suppose to emphasize the inhuman feeling he gets from them, and thus has termed them the 'heartless'. Sometimes when he imagines these, he has physical reactions. "So, did you have episodes when you were younger?"

The boy pokes his face while trying to remember. "Yeah, I guess so. That was when I was sleepwalking, too, so sometimes I just ended up in Roxas' bed anyway."

I guess he'd be too young to remember any attacks at that time. What a dead end.

"Hmmn," I say, putting some measure of effort into my tone. My eyes flicker to the clock on the wall, out of habit, although I'm well aware of the time. Usually, I sit with my back to the window, and I use the opposite clock for reference. I put up that one myself, because I didn't like having to crane my neck to get a glimpse of the one over my shoulder. The second clock is much more discreet for keeping an eye on the time – by no accident.

It's because Cloud insists that we let our clients choose their own seating; this kid is the only one that goes out of his way to steal _my_ spot, and made me install another clock.

"We're sharing a room now, too, so I'll probably be okay from now on anyway."

"Well," I say, trying to come up with something resembling advice. "It would be useful to learn to deal with your fears on your own, too. You should probably be trying to overcome any episodes without involving Roxy."

"Roxas."

"So, I guess that's all the time we have for today," I say, standing up and setting aside my clipboard. I make sure it's face-down, so the kid won't look over and realise that my notes on our discussion had invariably turned into a grocery list.

"I'll change my schedule for mornings from now on. You'll have to remember that next week."

"I will." The brunet boy looks to the clock, too. "Aa, you're right! I was talking too long." Here, the teen blushes. He just spent the better part of an hour explaining away how much he misses his older friend who'd left town for a couple weeks, some guy he obviously has the biggest crush on in the history of in-denial highschool boys.

He stands and shuffles around me to the door: he's also the only patient of mine that opens the door. All the others wait for me to let them out. This boy, though, he swings it ajar and stands to the side, grinning at me like the doormat he is. I thank him with a short nod and step past.

It's always awkward when he lets me out.

"Hey…" He makes a noise behind me, and I turn to look over my shoulder.

The office is split into two rooms. One has our desks and file cabinets; the other is set up for ideal discussion environment, and an overall more comfortable atmosphere. As both my partner and I have many young clients, half of the second room is lined with buckets of plastic figurines and various toys, and there's a large, annoyingly pink dollhouse in the corner. One incredibly squat table, for the vertically challenged children of about six or seven years of age, sits to the side. On it is usually some construction paper and a pencil, and one of those Lisa Frank multi-coloured erasers with the pony on it or some shit.

This was all of course Cloud's doing. Sometimes he tells me that I'm not enthusiastic enough for my job. That's about when I quite articulately point out that a good, lengthy, heartfelt conversation with him is about as stimulating and advantageous as humping a brick wall.

The brown-haired boy picks up an Etch-A-Sketch from the midget table.

"Who drew this?" he inquires softly, staring at it in awe. "A paopu…"

I lean back through the doorway to glimpse it. There's an image of a star with a leaf hanging off of it, giving the impression that it's some deformedly shaped fruit. Even for a basic shape, it is well done, and includes shading. For me, the creator is easily identifiable.

"That's one of our recent other clients. You should see, they do some pretty impressive stuff with that thing." And it's true, too. The strange boy in question is quite deserving of the compliment. I had never been aware of the true potential of an Etch-A-Sketch. He isn't my patient, though; he is Cloud's.

"I would like to," he answers, smiling gently up at me.

"Eh? Like to what?"

"See what they draw. Can you save it for me next time they come back?"

What a strange kind of demand. Unsure, I nod. "I can try."

He smiles again in that cute, innocent way. "Thanks, Leon."

I have to admit that I don't normally give a real damn about much at work. For a psychologist, I don't honestly get many interesting patients – Cloud does, though. Last year, he had a lot of drama working with these two girls: one was a schizophrenic highschooler, Tilmitt, and the other was an incredibly violent woman who was earnestly trying to get help for some anger management issues. I'm not too fond of Tifa – since she had no more need for sessions with Cloud, she started hanging around a lot outside of work. I guess you could call her a friend; I prefer the term man-eater. She's absolutely smitten with Cloud and he just doesn't seem to get it.

Anyway, he gets all the personality disorders and serious people. It's like I'm given the leftovers to work with, the fourteen year old girls who cut themselves because they broke up with a boyfriend, or the odd family conference. I guess it's because I do a lot of family therapy work that I'm finding myself uncompelled towards my patients. Really, the families that come to me are not the ones that need it.

I shouldn't say that. I've worked with some pretty fucked up people. That's when I'm good at my job, that's when I can take a problem by the horns and work through it with people. That's when I can help them, y'know, when they _need_ it. I'm just not too sure what to do with the rest of the weirdoes that land in my office.

I'm not the most empathetic person, naturally.

Irino Sora is a different story – at first, he was just another family therapy kid. His mother coerced him into weekly sessions with me because he has motivational and social problems. I've learned since working with him that his real issues are more deeply troublesome. He has agoraphobic tendencies and deals with other forms of anxiety problems, such as nyctophobia and a sleep terror disorder, and I believe he even experiences hysteric moments because of these fears. As a direct result of these, his sleeping patterns have no consistency and are often quite unhealthy.

Aside from that, I've just become used to him. He's been meeting with me once a week, fifty-two weeks a year, for nearly four years, so we were bound to develop some sort of a relationship, despite my own anti-social inclinations. He's annoyingly innocent and talks too much about this guy he's obsessed with, and often I barely listen to his ramblings. But even though it's just work, the kid really has grown on me.

"No problem, kid."

I am met with absolute, dead silence. I blink slowly, stupidly.

-

Sora has already left.

Reminiscing sucks.

-

-

-

"You're done work now, right?"

-

It's much later that evening. Actually, only an hour or two, but sitting at a desk is painfully boring, and the boring kind of time doesn't move much faster than city traffic does, just when you happen to be late for class. That's part of the reason we decided to practise on an island like this one. No city traffic; just a lot of bad drivers. I look up, a ballpoint pen clipped onto my lower lip.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, wincing at the way my voice betrays just how tired I really am.

The blond man leaning against my doorway smirks and steps forward. "I wanted to come pick you up," he replies, eyeing the water cooler. "I told you we were low. Why didn't you fill it today?"

"Because I'm a lazy bastard and that's your job?"

"Tch." He turns his attention to me again. "You're a brat," he says.

"Whatever." I stretch my arms behind my head, trying to repress a yawn. My eyelids are heavy and tired from an evening spent under the sickening flourescent lights of the office, and I have to will them to keep open. The blond appears to have read this on me, and a small clicking noise sounds before darkness floods the room. The doorway is open, and the bright light of the hallway shines directly on my desk, where he now leans casually. My notepad is left there, face up, still at the page with my notes from the Irino kid's five o'clock.

"Are you getting these?"

I look over to the grocery list. "Hmn," is all I manage. He'll get the right message from that much. Probably.

"Wait until tomorrow," he says, ripping the paper out and folding it neatly. He looks up at me. "We should go out tonight."

"It's Monday, Cloud."

"That's okay." He smirks, and places the folded note in front of me. "We won't stay out late."

"Hmn. You have to be here tomorrow morning, remember that," I say, but in truth I've already submitted. It really will be great to get out of this god forsaken office. I move to shut down my computer.

He smiles a little, and swipes the keys from my desk. He locks up the file cabinets, and moves to the door of the conference room. I watch him close it as my computer whirs to sleep, noticing the red plastic frame of the Etch-A-Sketch lying on the table.

That's right, Sora's request. "Cloud…" I start.

He steps up behind me and drops the keys in my lap. "We going to go or what?" he asks, his mouth awfully close to my ear.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," I answer in an impatient tone. His arms fall around my shoulders and one hand reaches its slender fingers for my face.

"What are you doing?"

"You have a pen stuck on your lip," he whispers into my neck. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and my head tilts to the side naturally to give him easy access to whatever he wants. He pulls off the offending pen and tosses it onto the desk in front of me, then takes a soft grip on my chin and turns my face so I'm looking right up at him. He somehow manages a sweet smirk at me before covering my lips in an easy, light kiss.

He pulls back quickly, catching and pulling my lower lip lightly between his teeth as he does so.

"Ready to go yet?" he asks in a hushed voice.

"Just give me a second…"

I turn the chair on its wheels without looking away from those warm blue eyes. Once I'm facing him, I pull the collar of his jacket so he has to lean down. This time when our lips meet, it's much hungrier and immediately gets wet. I hear one of his hands fall to the desk behind me, steadying him as I draw his tongue out with my own. I can feel my whole body heat up as his mouth works against mine, drawing agonizingly below the belt.

This really is quite a wonderful way to end a painfully anticlimactic work day.

It takes much longer for him to back out again this time, but he does eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand. He's still leaning over me, and he rests his forehead against mine. "We could just cut the night out and head straight home," he offers with another small smirk.

I nod against him, ruffling his messy blond bangs. "But I'll have to leave my car here overnight."

"That's okay; I'll drive you in the morning."

"Right."

I let him pull me up. I stand and meet his eyes again, for a moment wavering and telling myself to just the hell out of here, but before long I've shoved him against the file cabinet and I'm kissing him madly again. I don't want to wait to go home; I want him all at once. I want all of his awesome taste. I push deeper for more of it, and I can also pick up a trace alcohol on his tongue. He breathes warm against me, out his nose, and I can smell it, too. I smile against his lips.

That explains the pleasant visit. It's true; he doesn't normally do this – not at work, at least.

I move one of my hands from his face, trailing it lower, and I open my eyes to meet his. He watches me, sky blue eyes alight with amusement, and I can't help moaning into his mouth. My hand reaches his waist, so I slip my arm around him and pull him forward against me, needing every touch I can get.

He bites softly on my lip as our warm bodies collide through our clothes. "Come on, Squall," he whispers to me. I feel the m when he pronounces it, and I frown at him. He's the one who started this. I bite back, a bit harder. It gives me shivers; usually he only calls me by my actual name when we're... in more _intimate_ situations.

He pushes me off of him. I resist pouting as the cold air rushes back against me.

"Someone's going to see, you idiot." He's hiding a grin.

"Let's go, then."

I take him by the wrist and lead the way out, snatching my coat as I pass. And the keys on the desk, where Cloud left them.

-

Oh, that's right.

"Cloud, you know that Etch-A-Sketch genius?"

"The Miyano kid?" he asks distractedly as we step into the elevator.

"Sure," I say. I pull him close as soon as the door closes, and I can't help leaning in to taste him again. "Can you save the next one he does for me?"

Cloud looks confused, and there's a bit of saliva left on his lip. I wipe it for him as he answers. "He's out of town right now. Why?"

"Well, the next time he comes in. A friend of mine wants to see them." I pause and wonder why I used the word friend.

-

"Yeah, whatever."

Damn, he tastes good.

-

-

-

-

**TBC**

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**A/N** YAY. First chapter officially done! So, this wasn't supposed to be Leon's POV. It just kind of happened. I think I was confused about whether Sora bored him to death or at the end where he loves him… uhm, I'm just going to say that it's possible for both to happen! XD And Cloud wasn't supposed to molest him, either. That just kinda happened on its own, too. Never mind that it's the lamest molest'd scene evar… XD sorry, sorry… And about the title? Hopefully it will be relevent at the end.. if that scene isn't delted for complete corniness. It's titled after a song, so I guess that's pretty emo of me. Sorry again.

As a final note, I'd like to say that I was totally lost about their last names. I mean, I could just use Harada and Misaki like the awesomes before me, but I don't want to copy their creative genius. So, I just went with the names of their voice actors… I'm wishing that I gave Sora and Roxas the Roxas' name. I don't think I like Irino. T,T Mybye it'll grow on me…

Or not.

**Mindless Advertisement:** Everyone who wants to be one of the cool kids should listen to me in this section and go download the loves that I will explain to you. First up is **Diouf**, and their song **J'aime pas ça** ("I don't like that" – talking about racism). You know you're a cool kid once you have Diouf. They do AWESHUM African beatness because they are AWESHUM black men-ness. X3 I love it. I found out last week that they played HERE, in this boonietown, two years ago, and I was oblivious. I also didn't know of them at the time… If you're still reading for some strange reason, feel free to stalk me and I'll totally send the songs to you because SHARING IS CARING.

**Review for me with love, plox? **


	2. Caput II: Roxas

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**Guess-A-Sketch 02**

**AnOtic**

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-

-

"_**You**…" He reached over and grabbed the older boy by the collar of his shirt, yanked him forward._

"_Who do you think would **want**–?"_

_Here, I wrapped my arms around him from behind. He broke off his indignant shouting, distracted as I whispered close to his ear. "For me, Hayner," I said. "Put your attitude away just this once, for me. Give me a real goodbye."_

_Predictably, he melted smoothly back into my grip. I knew; it was obvious. He honestly didn't mind the cocky smirk of one Seifer Almasy._

-

-

"From one small town to another: I was destined to be a country bumpkin."

-

I let out a long, heavy sigh, and give my twin a pout.

I guess I'm just being my exaggerative, melodramatic, angsty self. That's what Sora calls me. The truth is, I've moved to a new 'city'; it's the capital of the Destiny Islands, but has a population of barely 20, 000, though this is only slightly less than my own home town. The real reason I complain is because Twilight Town was at least inland, where the big city was only a bus ride away, where my college friends, and _Seifer_, were only just a bus ride away.

"You think you have it bad? I've spent my whole_ life_ here," my fraternal twin is removing his shoes. He pulls a bow out of the laces on his right foot and looks up at me. "You, on the other hand, got to run around on the mainland with your city friends for eight glorious years."

I crack a small grin. "I didn't have city friends for the whole eight years," I reason. He shakes his head, and goes back to pulling off his fat yellow sneaker, like some skater kid. I seriously doubt that he's ever seen a skateboard with his own eyes. I continue, my grin spreading, "And it was nine years, you dolt."

He glares up at me. "And that would be why you get no sympathy from me," he humphs and stands, his hands in his shoes now. He slaps them together once, twice, and then stares at them for a moment. If it was any normal person, I'd assume that he was just trying to beat the dirt out of them. Because it's Sora, though, I know that there's likely no logical explanation. He whacks them together again, before dropping them to the floor.

He's weird like that.

He waddles past me, and I turn to follow him into the kitchen. "But I've already unpacked _everything_ I own, and now there's nothing for me to do. Don't you have any friends to introduce me to or anything?"

Sora's head pokes back out of the refrigerator and scowls at me around the pickle hanging out between his lips. "Ff 'couwse ahh do!" He straightens and pulls the old cucumber out of his mouth, closing the door and chewing while he attempts to continue speaking. "But Tidus and Wakka spent the whole summer playing Blitzball, so they've been grounded the past week to finish homework."

I pull a face at him. "Tidus and Wakka, is it? You only have… two friends? Dear little brother, I wasn't aware of your raging popularity," I tease. It's good entertainment to see his expressions flare up dramatically.

"Shut up! I'm not your little brother, you bumhead," he whines. He knows it's useless, though.

I flick him on the forehead. "Ten minutes counts, stupid," I say, laughing a little.

He rubs his forehead, mumbling that it shouldn't, but I'm not really listening to him anymore. I lean against the counter and let out a bored sigh. "Seriously, what have you done all summer?"

He gulps down some pickle and hops up to sit on the counter beside me. "I was hanging out with Riku a bit, but he works a lot and he's got some weird friends…" Sora trails off here, staring at the opposite wall distractedly.

I wonder what disturbing memory he could possibly be reliving, and wait quietly for him to continue; it takes a while, but eventually he comes back around.

"The kids on the island are all so _normal_, though. If you don't fit in, then you don't really have a lot of options," he says, nodding. I'm not too sure what the hell he's talking about, but I nod, too. "It's tough," he finishes lamely.

"So, what do people like you _do_ in a place like this, then?" I ask. Sora frowns.

Then he grins, a little scarily, and hops down to take my hand – but he's still holding what's left of his pickle and it's squished into my palm. Wordlessly, he leads me away with an iron grip, and all I can do its tail along behind and try to wiggle my hand away from the gross, withered and wet cucumber. I know it won't help me to say anything in protest, so I don't make a noise.

Sora really is the most troublesome kid to deal with.

We wind up the staircase and into his bedroom – _our_ bedroom, now – and he bounces across the room, filled with a sudden excitement. I'm not altogether sure if I want to know what this is all about, but I hang around to humour him. Well, that and he still has my hand as tightly as a vice.

He really does look like a skater kid – he's got on a pair of red cargo shorts and a baggy punk t-shirt. On each of his wrists there's a sweatband: one has a crown symbol on it, and the other a Mickey Mouse silhouette. The first day I came home, he was wearing this stupid toque that reminded me of Seifer, if it wasn't for his auburn locks poking out from under it in every direction. Right now, they look like he just pulled off that hat, or mybye only recently crawled out of bed. It's been that way ever since I can remember, Sora looking like he'd just wandered out of a straightjacket. I wasn't at all surprised to find out that he visits a trained psychologist every week.

No, that's a lie. It came as a crazy shock to me earlier today when he announced it on his way out, as he just happened to have kept that little piece of information from me all while I was living in Twilight Town. But my shock was quickly overcome – I'd just gained the best drollery material ever.

My little twin brother is a genuine loony.

Grinning, the brunet holds up a controller for his ps3. "People like me…" he declares happily, rubbing his cheek with the pickle, "we play video games!"

I watch, slightly amused, as my brother starts rambling incoherently and pressing a few buttons. It doesn't take long before he's lost to the world, except for the occasional, "Don't you love this game, Roxas?"

I don't think he notices that I'm not responding. I sit with him distractedly for a while, eyes on the television screen and bored out of my mind. For no real reason, I sniff underneath my hand, and it reeks of pickle. I look to Sora, who has the pickle wedged between two of his toes now – when did he lose his socks? – so I extract the mushy thing from his foot and announce that I'm going to go wash my hands.

"I'm busy," is all he says, in an eerie, lost-to-the-world monotone.

Sighing, I stroll across the hallway to the bathroom. When I pass by our bedroom again, Sora is so glued to his videogame that I don't bother. Besides, out of the four days I've been here, I only left the house once, and that was because mum was taking us out for dinner. I've already learned that such an event is rare and special – she's a nurse, so she works late nights and when she is home she's sleeping. She apologizes so much for it that I feel bad for just looking at her sometimes.

I really feel like a burden in this house; it hasn't been my home since I was seven years old. Even though we've been in touch and he has regularly come to visit me, I feel like I barely know Sora. I'm learning all kinds of new things about him that I'd never even considered before.

For example, almost every kid in his high school hates him. Personally, I'd always figured Sora to be an easily likeable character.

I find myself wandering out the back door. The skyline has become nothing but a blindingly pink smudge of clouds. That painful level where the sun seems intent on clawing out your eyes has already past; the great orb of light has settled just low enough that I find it pleasant. The air is warm on my bare arms, and it smells of salt water. The scent strongly reminds me of my childhood summers spent here, of sand in my shoes, my mouth and my hair, of blisters on my palms from a day on the monkey bars.

And sand getting in the blisters after they popped. That wasn't such a fond memory.

Sora and I used to hang around in this playground near our house. Though we were homeschooled back then, there was a typical suburban elementary school across the street from us, so our mom let us play there all the time. Just me and Sora. I can't ever remember having any other friends on the island; my life here was short and sheltered.

A couple years back, I received an email from my nearly distraught twin, explaining that the playground was being removed. As the story goes, he was walking home with one of his friends, sharing a Seasalt ice-cream, and witnessed his favourite swing set being uprooted by a great, mechanical giant. He ran home crying, and dropped his friend's ice-cream on the sidewalk.

He was fifteen years old at the time.

It's no wonder he's a reject at school.

And Sora is a big fat liar. The playground is sitting perfectly intact in front of me. I frown and hop the fence, staring round as I wander through the sand. The sunset casts a warm orange light on everything, giving it a friendly feel.

It's a nice change, for the past week has been hectic for me. Seven days ago, I never would have thought that by now my whole life would have been snatched by the ankles and shaken for all the lunch money it's worth. I never would have _dreamed_ that today I would be here on Destiny Island, without my friends and without my arcade. Hayner and I only just got over our most recent fight, and all of a sudden I'm standing alone in a child's playground, kicking sand and wishing desperately to wake up from this horrible dream.

I reach into the front pouch of my hoodie, and my fingers grasp my tiny I-Mobile. I can't use it as a phone here on the island, but it has about 100 MB of music on it: my current top twenty-five favourite songs, half of which happen to be by the most awesomely great band in the world. I'm one of the biggest Aerial Sweep fans to ever breathe the same air as them. No, seriously, one time I was in the _same city_ as them while they were on tour. It was the most exhilarating experience ever; too bad I couldn't get actual tickets.

As the low, creeping bass line of The Pumpkin King plays softly in my ears, I shove my hands into my pockets and wander slowly, trying to lose myself in sweet childhood memories of this playground. It's not exactly working. The only thing I can think of is the first time I listened to this song – Hayner got me their new CD last fall, and we had a hell of a time back then. It was the first Halloween I didn't go trick-or-treating, to say the least.

I quickly change the song.

A smile pulls my lips when the crazy beat of the next one starts up. The drummer of the band, Wakamoto Xemnas, is by far the coolest, despite the overwhelming popularity of the band's face man and bassist, Kuja. I plop myself down onto a ledge of the great plastic structure of the jungle gym, unable to suppress a stupid grin as I listen to the sounds of Xemnas beating the snot out of an innocent drum set.

I hear a noise outside my headphones and glance up. The playground is as still as ever, though it is quickly darkening, as the sky fades to a deep purple. I notice a small stick abandoned in the sand and bend over to pick it up. I carefully inspect it, turning it over twice to check for bugs, before following my favourite Aerial Sweep member's lead and tapping away on the pole of the monkey bars.

I watch the peace of the playground, mindlessly beating the metal pole beside me. Destiny Island is such a lonely place; I'm not too sure how I'll be able to fit in here. I feel a deep resentment for my father inside me, like a black space filling out where my heart should be. I feel hollow and empty in my chest when I think of it.

He's the one who sent me here.

I guess I get a little too into the song, because the stick soon snaps in my hand. I tisk at it, annoyed, and stand to head home. I'm sure that by now Sora has realized I'm gone, and if I'm lucky he might even stop playing videogames and entertain me somehow. I pull my earphones, and move to wind them around my I-Mobile. Part of that stupid twig is still in my hand, so irritably I toss it over my shoulder, and proceed to wrap the cord around my super small cell phone.

"Ow!"

I turn sharply at the noise of wood clattering behind me. There's a blond boy, about my own age, standing there and rubbing his head angrily. He's wearing the strangest shorts: one leg is much longer than the other. Underneath them, on one knee, I can see part of some kind of brace he's got on. Rolling slowly across the sidewalk at his feet is a long bokken.

His eyes fix on me, and he adjusts a drawstring bag over his shoulder. He glares and shouts out to me.

"Don't fling your shit at me!"

I'm not sure what to say, so I say nothing. He frowns, watching me watch him for a moment before shaking his head and reaching for his bokken. He mumbles a "whatever" as he continues down the street.

I should probably be embarrassed, or at least apologize, but I just shrug and turn my attention back to my mp3-player phone. I carefully wrap it and slide it back into my pouch. It's a precious treasure to me; I cleaned a lot of tables to pay for that thing.

I flip my hood up and pad across the now empty street to my house.

I couldn't care less if every citizen of Destiny Island 'City' was knocked out cold by flying chunks of wood. In fact, I'd be quite pleased with myself if I was the one chucking the wood at them.

-

Destiny Island can go to hell.

And so can my jackass of a father.

-

-

-

"_Get away from me_!"

-

Though only partially awake, I'm suddenly thrown into full consciousness when Sora begins screaming bloody murder from the bed below mine.

I sigh and try to will my heart to calmness.

It doesn't really work, so I pull myself up and glance over the rail of our bunk bed. My brunet twin is tossing his head, shaking himself and breathing heavily, which is hard enough to watch, but then he shouts again, and the expression on his face targets the most empathetic part of me. I hop down from my bed and try to wake him with gentle hands. When his eyes open, they're wide and fearful, full of panic. They look at me, through me, past me.

It just hurts me to see him like this.

I've looked them up – night terrors, that is – because he's had an episode like this every night since I've been back. He doesn't remember them when he's actually awake, so it's hard to talk to him about. I'm not sure if my moving in is the cause, but I try not to think about that. It'll only make my situation in Destiny Island more depressing.

"You're safe in bed, Sora," I whisper to him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Gremlin," he hisses. "He's from the gate." His expression is just creepy to look at, like he doesn't see me and doesn't recognize me. I know it's just a fit he's having, but it's quite a humbling experience. It stings a little when he can't answer me.

"My name is Roxas. I'm your brother." I say, louder and more clearly. I put my hand on my chest for emphasis.

"Do you know where you are, Sora?"

He just shakes his head. His blue eyes are stretched so open it looks painful, and sweat is shining all over his face. I want to hug him, I want to tell him that it's okay and there's nothing wrong, but I know he won't believe me. I know it'll only make him worse.

His expression is so creepy to look at. He's not really awake yet.

"This is your own bedroom."

He blinks slowly; his breath is evening.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

"Sora," he says automatically. "I'm Sora."

I nod. Good. "Who am I?"

"You're Roxas."

"And where are we?"

"In bed. You're in my bed." He looks down at the twisted mass of blankets covering him. I'm on my hands and knees, hovering over him. I sit back on his lap, grinning and blushing at the same time. He's reaching for my hands, pulls my fingers up to his face, and strokes his cheek with my knuckles.

He's soft and warm.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

He nods, and I crawl off of him.

"Sorry about that," I say.

-

But my little brother is sleeping again.

I frown, because I know he won't remember this one in the morning, either.

-

-

-

-

**TBC**

**-------**

**A/N:** Okay, seriously crappy chapter... This was hard to force out, though! I kept telling myself it was mandatory for the plotline, but it kept biting my fingers when I tried to type! T,T I'm not kidding. It was painful. I mean, Roxas and his agonizing lack of personality is seriously boring to write. I kept having to go on youtube and watch cut scenes for inspiration, just 'cause I wasn't really connecting with my inner Roxas. Screw that, I don't think I have an inner Roxas. Here's hoping that next time his POV comes around, I'm more in tune. XD

Oh, and I'm sorry about the pickle. It just kept coming back. I do like pickles.

**Mindless Advertisement: **All I can listen to recently is the awesome **Amadou et Mariam**. They're a blind couple in Africa somewheres or something. Awesomely cool beats like you could only imagine from African beauties X3, and if you understand French, then you'll be able to appreciate a lot of what they're saying. If not, that's okay, 'cause half the time they're not even singing in French. It's some Bamara..ma..ba language. It's really cute, though. I recommend the songs **Beaux Dimanches** ("Beautiful Sundays"..? The days of marriage in Bamako), **Politic Amagni** ("Politics is bad"..? They have some cute, horribly accented English lines in there..) and **Sénégal Fast Food** (err.. "Sénégal Fast Food"!). Yesh.. pretty much the whole CD, **Dimanche á Bamako** (Sunday in Bamako.. XD yeah).

-

And last, but not least – actually, yeah, it's probably the least to the readers – **please R&R**.

I need happy crack to keep writing, and reviews definitely do it for me. XD I posted this earlier than I was supposed to, but hey, I had it, and it was nearing odd hours of the morning on a school night, and I figured WHY THE HELL NOT?! XD **BETA WANTED**…?

-

LOVE YOU:glomphug: Thanks yous for reading!

AO


	3. Caput III: Sora

**----------------**

**Guess-A-Sketch 03**

**AnOtic**

**----------------**

-

-

"Can't you put something a little more healthy inside your body?"

-

Yes, that's my nagging mother. For the most part, she's never home – but when she is, she makes her presence very known and very annoying. "Yes, yes," I drone as I chomp into my Raspberry/Strawberry Super-Icing Sprinkly Delight poptart. It's the kind of sugar a growing boy like me needs first thing in the morning. Er, noonhour.

Hey, it's summer. I don't have to be moving or in any way conscious until about one in the afternoon, _after_ I've had my fix of good, old-fashioned Nintendo 64 games. Today was Zelda: Legend of Majora's Mask. I don't think I can count how many times I've beaten that one. I've had it since I was eleven years old, and last year was the only one I didn't play, so you can do the math. I thought I was tired of it during tenth grade. Boy, was I wrong.

It's one of the best games ever invented.

"I mean it, Sora – once Roxas gets up make sure the both of you get something to eat."

"I _am_ eating, mum. I'm perfectly fine." Out of nowhere, the crazy woman smacks me in the back of the head. I shout in protest, but she feels no remorse.

"I want you guys to eat real food. If you can't manage it on your own, I'll be forced to start coming home early and _cooking_ for you."

I cower at such a threat. "Eeyah, I'll eat, I'll eat," I whine, "just don't cook!"

She smacks me again. "And stop being such a goofball."

I turn, clutching the abused place on my head, to look up at her. She's like a little powerhouse – I mean, she's small and cute to look at, but there's plenty of pent up energy in that tiny woman. One time I shook her hand, and I've never done it since. I swear, she broke every one of my fingers. Ever since that day, I've watched the people she interacts with for signs of pain when she comes into contact with them. A year ago, this male nurse came home with her. She said he was just giving her a ride because she needed to pick something up, but I know the real reason why he never came back.

There just so happened to be a moment when they tried to shake hands, and I stood behind them and watched his face crumple under her iron grip. He looked like he was going to be sick. My mom just grinned.

She stands with one hand on her hip, a coy smile on her lips. She's dressed plainly in black pants and a white blouse, as she's on her way to the hospital. Her uniform is tucked under her free arm, and her hair has been tamed into a tight bun at the back of her head.

She usually has tons of blond, wavey/curly hair. It really depends on her mood. As soon as she's tense, little ringlets appear, and they tighten like you'd imagine muscles would on a normal kind of tense person. When she's relaxed, it just kind of falls down, and cascades with wave after wave about her shoulders.

Roxas got her hair, though I had the misfortune of inheriting the strange skeleto-muscular system within it. I also got her height – but I have to admit, I don't have it as bad as she does.

"You're such a space-out," I hear her say from somewhere in the corner of the room. I blink and look to her, see her pulling on her hospital jacket. I like the emblem in the corner, and I wonder why they would change the snakes on it to weird, twisty ropes.

Ropes aren't as cool as snakes.

"Sora, are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, mum: feed Roxas, stop being a smart ass, and don't stare at people like I'm tripping on a gateway drug." I lick the extra-iced top of my poptart in between each comment, leaving behind as much saliva as possible, attempting (and succeeding quite well if I may say so myself) to create a sticky, sealable mixture. The rainbow sprinkles are little beads under my tongue.

I'm smacked a third time.

"I didn't tell you to feed him. Don't twist my words." She looks at me with a puzzled expression, reaching for her purse while keeping eye contact. My head pulses where she repeatedly beat me. "And I didn't say anything about drugs, either."

"You thought it," I say, turning back to my poptart. It's not that warm anymore. I lick it a few more times, in order to conduct my experiment.

Her hand comes into contact with my head, and I wince, but all she does is ruffle my hair. I scowl at the crumbs on my now-empty plate. It's not like my hair needs any more help in defying me in every imaginable – and unimaginable – direction. It's my personal belief that my hair is actually a primitive life form with its own will, which in all likelihood descended from whatever organism resides on my mother's head.

She's half out the door now, hauling her womanly supplies under one arm and her uniform under the other. She leans back to watch me carefully, and I watch back, confused. She frowns at me, "You really have to stop playing with your food, honey. It's quite strange for a fifteen year old boy."

"I'm sixteen, mom, remember?" I whine, giving her a disapproving look. I just had a birthday this summer, and she keeps forgetting it. That's not what a kind, caring mother does, is it? Forget her own son's birthdate?

_Both_ of her sons' birthday?

"Right. Just get that poptart off your forehead." And she's gone, calling out a last "_Ittekimasu_." The door closes firmly behind her.

"_Itterashai_," I mumble, crossing my eyes in an attempt to focus on the pastry. I reach up delicately to press it in before it slides down my face.

Roxas is stumbling into the kitchen now, his blond hair sticking up in the familial hairstyle. Fortunately for him, that is remediable with the aid of a long, steamy shower and countless hair products. He normally has it sculpted into a neat, swirling motion, curling over and sticking up in all the right ways. He hasn't done that with his hair since he got here, though. After the first night he slept on his beautiful clay model, it was lost to his boonie island-induced depression.

The blond rubs his eyes, his voice croaks as it reaches blindly out to me. "Was that mum leaving?"

"Yep," I say cheerfully. I think the extra Raspberry/Strawberry Super-Icing Sprinkly finally hit its Delight, as the glucose in my bloodstream at last locates my central nervous system. I've been eating these things for the past hour, anyway. It's about time.

"Urgh…" Roxas' eyes are barely more than glazed-over slits when they settle on me, without really seeing. "Why are you so happy this early, you idiot?"

"It's almost two in the afternoon, Roxas! This is the happy hour of the day!"

He pads over to the table, dropping his weight onto it and sliding his limp body into a creaky, painted chair. He looks like a zombie, but that's okay. He's got low blood pressure naturally, so waking up is always a zombified thing for him. "I thought that was at night… at eleven o'clock," he murmurs into the table. Silly Roxas. I wonder if he realises that tables can't reply.

"Nope! That was yesterday, 'cause I beat old-school Pokemon Red. Today, it's now!"

"And why's that?"

"Because I just ate three boxes of Extra Sprinkly Delight!" An ecstatic cackle erupts from me, uncontrollably, and when I throw my head back to really get into the character of the evil genius, the extra icing starts to slide again. Toasted corners fall into view over my brows, and hang there dangerously. I've stopped laughing, and I'm staring at those corners, daring them to fall any lower with all the psycho-telekinetic power that resides in me.

"Is it Friday today?"

Roxas is still talking to the table. I decide to indulge him for a while longer and pretend I am the table as I answer, "Nope, tomorrow."

"And we start school on Monday?"

"Yep!" I shouldn't be so happy about the prospect of school, but really, the end of this summer vacation was getting a little lonely. That is, since Roxas showed up. It's amazing the difference one can feel between being alone while playing videogames all day, and being alone with someone who ignores them all day.

My twin isn't the most patient with me. He thinks he's pretty cool or something.

Roxas grumbles in his throat a little, and squints over at me. "Tell me that's not a poptart on your head, Sora."

"It's not – it's -…" I forget what I'm trying to say, as the blasted thing slips down the bridge of my nose.

-

"That's disgusting, take it off right now."

Obediently, I peel the frosted pastry from my forehead.

-

-

-

"Who's Fuuuujin? That your giiiirlfriend?"

-

I spent most of the day sipping sports energy drinks and fighting with Roxas over them. He's been trying to starve me all day, snatching foods away from me and making me spit out candies. He ate all of my Hello Panda cookies, and then laughed at me and told me it was because I wasn't allowed to have any more sugar.

I couldn't help it today; I'd developed a momentary sweet tooth. Normally, I'm not so OCD about it.

Eventually, though, he tired of this and left me, my hyperactivity, and the ps3 all alone. But there's only so much of Tekken 5: Dark Resurrection that is understandable when you've had two 2 litres of rootbeer. I was taking more bathroom breaks than actually playing, and on my way back from one of them, I happened to find Roxas sitting under the stairs with his precious laptop. He has a lot of stupid city gadgets like that, but thanks to him I was one of the first on Destiny Island to actually get my hands on the ps3 when it initially came out.

My twin turns away from me to hide his IM conversation with the mysterious 'Fuujin' girl, unresponsive, so I try another question.

"Why did dad kick you out?"

Roxas scowls at me; I've been bugging him for about fifteen minutes now.

"Mum really needs to hire someone to babysit you, y'know."

"So, he did kick you out?"

Here, he gives his patented angst sigh. "I can't deal with this," my blond twin grumbles as he turns his back again.

"C'mon, Roxas! I'm bored!"

"Go back to your videogames, then. I don't have the patience right now for something as high-maintenance as you are."

I sit back on my heels and pout. He doesn't have to be so mean. I tell him that.

"I'm busy, Sora." He sits with his back to me, typing away.

This is boring. Roxas is a completely different person now from the boy who moved out of my house nine years ago.

He's not the only one; as the years go by, I notice everyone around me changing, all of them slowly freezing over. I find that people lose a closeness with each other the older they get, that they put up strange rules between each other where the show of affection is something a person has to work hard for. I remember when I was younger, everyone around me seemed so sweet and loved me easily because I was 'so cute'. More recently, people tell me to 'stop trying to be so cute', and they give me cold looks with their eyes. I think people squint too much as adults. They barely open their eyes when they look at you.

Roxas was the one who first made me notice this change – he made it nearly overnight after moving out. I think he, and other kids around me, noticed the way adults treat them, but they took it differently than I did. They became cold and detached, too, and they narrowed their eyes at everything. Soon enough, it wasn't just Roxas; I was looking at an entire world that valued this detachedness in its children, this thing they called 'maturity'.

I've been told I need to get myself some.

It's the same with Riku, and even Kairi as of late. We're not a trio anymore. He just threw himself headfirst into growing up too fast, and she has withdrawn since Selphie was sent away. Sometimes I really don't feel like a part of it, this cold world, like I'm standing alone to the side and watching the whole planet roll over into another ice age.

I become too bored staying here with the ice prince Roxas, and gaze around dumbly for anything to do. I spot something of interest glinting with sunlight across the hallway.

I crawl across the livingroom to snag the cordless phone from its cradle. The room is filled with a warm, golden light from the great windows – we've nearly got a glass wall on the front of our house. This light illuminates Mom's prized suede sofas, while the dark, ancient wood of the coffee table and matching (scary) boudoir closet contrast it in a way I'm sure she intended. She has a thing for interior design: she's done it all over the house, even taken it into my bedroom and messed with everything I own while I was visiting Roxas one summer. But the livingroom I'm proud of, and when I do have people over, I make sure to stand in it when I say, "this is my house."

On my way back, I do G-I-Joes on my belly, because it's more fun that way. As I pull myself back into the shadows under the staircase, I hear Roxas sigh in that way of his. You know, the melodramatic kind of _Roxas_ way.

"I thought you were leaving?" he mutters to his glowing computer screen.

"I couldn't," I answer for the helpless computer – really, I've been saving inanimate objects from Roxas' ignorance all day. "But it wasn't for lack of trying. There was this stupid emo kid molesting me in his lap."

He looks at me with a disgusted expression. "It's no wonder you have your own personal psychologist. You're friggin' crazy, you know that? You make no sense."

I frown at him. We're twins. Even if we've lived apart for over half our lives, he's still supposed to know what I'm thinking all the time, isn't he? It's our _birthright_ – telepathy. God's way of rewarding us for having braved the womb simultaneously. I point to my temple, giving him a meaningful look, trying to convey this, and he tells me that, if I have to so bad, I should just go take a shit already.

I shake my head. He really is hopeless.

He lets out another one of those Roxas sighs and turns back to his computer. I lean against him, wait for him to stop trying to shake me off, and then find a comfortable place slouching against his back. I stare dumbly at the telephone in my hands, wondering what to do now. I don't really have many friends – Wakka doesn't count, because he'd much rather hang out with the Blitzball team than Sora the Geek. Riku's gone on some spontaneous road trip with his strange, perpetually stoned friends, and Kairi hasn't gotten out of her depression all summer, so she's not really a fun option.

My fingers are dialing a number, a familiar one. Since Riku left, it's the only one I can call.

Tidus.

He's a lot like Wakka, but not as bad. He's a closet Tekken fan; I saw him writing it in a really neat font in biology class. Unfortunately, he did it on a Zwipes folder, so he had it all erased before someone on the Blitzball team could see. He also does Kendo, and taught me some cool things about swinging sticks at people.

I liked that.

"Tilmitt residence," says the soft voice in my ear.

Awkward. It's his mom. I'm not sure how to act around his family anymore, after what happened. "Eh–… hi, can I talk to Tidus?"

"Is that you, Sora?" she asks, sounding almost hopeful.

I wince. "Y-yeah, hi," I say, trying to sound friendly. "Is he doing homework right now?"

"No, Sora honey, he's out with his friends right now."

_What?_ "Aa, isn't he grounded?"

She gives a humph before responding. "He says he got it all done, so I let him go out for a Blitzball game. He has his cellphone on him, if you need to reach him."

"Uhhh…-oh! Thank you!" I find myself nodding in small bows, even though she can't see me. Roxas gives me a funny look over his shoulder, so I stop.

"No problem, dear. Play safe, alright?"

I don't know what she means by that, but I tell her I will.

"Who's Tidus?" Roxas asks from behind me. I ignore him while I quickly enter in Tidus' cell number. "Sora?"

"It's nobody." As the phone rings over and over, the silences that stretch between the tones are painful. Tidus isn't picking up. I reach to twirl the phone's cord around my finger, but there is none, so I settle for twirling an imaginary cord. It's almost as gratifying; Roxas is giving me strange looks again, though. The phone rings again and again without answer.

I slump against my brother and let the stupid phone fall to the floor. I lay against my blond counterpart for a moment, giving in to complete and utter lethargy, when suddenly the abandoned device under my limp hand rings to life. It makes me jump, and Roxas gives me an elbow in the side. I shout and twist, and the phone rings again. He pushes me out of his lair and throws the ringing phone at me, wordlessly. I don't think he could be any more precise with words, anyway.

Roxas isn't one to talk a lot, even with his most beloved and beautiful twin brother.

"Eh- _moshimoshi_?" I ask the phone after it finishes ringing a fourth time.

"Sora?" Tidus' voice is out of breath. "That you?" he says, exactly like his mother before him.

"Yeah, where are you?"

"Beach," he says, and I can almost see him waving a lax hand to say that this is unimportant. He continues quickly, "Listen, there's this thing tomorrow – er, day after – and I want you to come with."

I twist my face at him in confusion, and then remember that he can't see me. By then, my face doesn't want to go back to normal, so I ask him out of the corner of my turned mouth, "What kind of a thing?"

He tisks impatiently, says, "We're just hanging out, Sora – it's the end of summer, so you should relax and do something normal before we have to go back to school." I can hear the blond laughing at someone as he speaks. I drop the confused face and frown at him now.

" Normal is overrated, Tidus. Can't you just come over and play the new Tekken? I have Dark Resurrection for ps3, but I haven't really had a chance to play yet…"

"Dark Resurrection? Have you played Lili yet?" he asks excitedly, before stopping himself. He goes quiet for a moment, clearing his throat, "No, I'm with Wakka and the guys. We're going to go play soon, so I have to go. But you should think about my offer – isn't your brother in town, too? You should take him…"

"Tidus, I don't think we want–"

"Okay, so I'll call you later for your answer, alright?"

But Tidus doesn't wait for my reply; he just hangs up there. What a strange way to say goodbye to a person.

-

"So, 'nobody' called back."

"Shutup, Roxas. _You're_ a nobody."

-

-

-

"Can you turn off the fucking light?"

-

I frown up at the support bars of his bed. He knows I'm scared of the dark. He's my twin brother – he's always known. This is his seventh night here, and already he's woken up twice with me curled up in his bed.

I can't help it.

There are things in the night, shadows and stuff. Things I should have gotten over years ago, but then I wasn't always afraid. When I was six years old was when I stayed up late every night watching scary movies, the ones that supply me with images now. When my eyes press against the darkness, and helplessly they find nothing, it's those stupid movies I watched years ago that come to play. Then I close my eyes to try to shut it all out; the heartless monsters move in a projection against my eyelids.

They're not normal monsters, like under the bed and in the closet. I'm scared of the ones on my floor, my ceiling, and my walls, clinging wherever they so choose with absolute disregard to gravity. They watch me with beady eyes, and even when the lights are on and I can see that they're not visible, I know they're there. They're still watching, waiting to take me. Heartless. That's the feeling I get.

There are times where I'm okay in the dark. Usually when I'm with someone I'll be absolutely fine. I think my fear of being overdramatic like my stupid brother is much greater than my fear of the dark, so I've never mentioned it before this past year to anyone. The first I told was of course Riku, and he thought it was all a joke. He played along with the 'joke' until I was having a fit in the corner of his bedroom, shaking and crying and screaming at him to stop. He took me seriously after that.

"Roxas, you know I can't."

"Can I, then? I haven't gotten a full night's sleep ever since I got here." I can hear it in his voice: he's tired. He's irritated. He's also trying to be patient with me, and I smile in a quiet thank-you.

It's actually been getting worse recently, and one night I had a panic attack while I was on the phone with Riku. I didn't know what it was at the time, but it worried me that it had occurred even while I was talking with someone. I think I scared him that night, when I told him I was suddenly tired and hung up. I couldn't control it, though, and I didn't want him asking what was wrong with me. Almost a week later, I described the whole thing to Leon and he gave it a name.

Roxas takes my silence the right way, and sighs exaggeratedly like he always does. "You can sleep with me, if you want. I just want an undisturbed night for once."

I can't stop my grin. "Okay."

You could say I'm a cuddly person.

He sighs again as he gets up, and I do, too. I hug him when he slides over the edge of his bed and lands on mine, and then crawl up past him as he pads across the room to our walk-in closet. I make sure I'm tucked in safely with my back to the room when the closet light goes off. I shut my eyes tightly and listen to Roxas' next sigh, to his soft steps on the wooden floorboards, and soon enough I feel his weight beside me. He breathes deeply and pulls the covers over himself, turning his back to me.

I sit up in the dark to frown down at him.

"What do you want now?"

I don't answer; I just reach over and pull his left arm to me, making him roll and face me. Then I smile, and curl up again against him, forcibly placing his arm over me.

"You're such a queer," he mutters, though I find him anything but offensive.

He's the warmest thing on the planet right now.

We haven't done this since the night before he moved out with Dad – Roxas never let me even when I came to visit him on the mainland. He'd become too grown-up suddenly, and his blue eyes that had been so like mine had a new, cold look in them. Distant. Beside me, he sighs again, but it's a content one. He would never admit it, but I think he's a cuddly person at heart, too.

We drift to sleep that way, as close as our five-year-old selves for the first time since the divorce. Slowly, the ice of my cold world is melting and I find that it's really nice to enjoy the last of these summer hours with the old Roxas. I snuggle under his arm with his welcoming smell washing over me and his breath creeping warm over the back of my neck, wanting want to hold this moment forever.

I'm almost certain I'll never have another one like it.

Unfortunately, then the telephone rings and it makes us both jump. Well, I jump. Roxas wakes up very annoyed, and rolls away from me with a groan. He tells me to go answer the friggin' phone. Duteously, I crawl to the foot of the bed and climb down to the floor.

As soon as my feet touch the cold hardwood of our floor, I realise that it's pitch black on all sides. I shudder a little, and tell myself I'll just calmly make it to the light switch. Yes, I know where that is. I step forward a little, as the cordless phone rings again from somewhere in our room. It makes me jump up, and suddenly the claws of every shadow are on my back. I tense up, the tingly sensation of anticipation covering my shoulder blades, and I end up bolting across the room.

Through the darkness, I see the white paint of my doorframe a little too late – my forehead and nose smash painfully, dead-on against it, and suddenly the floor comes flying up at me. I'm not sure if I'm laying or sitting, but I start to feel claustrophobic as the dark presses in on me. I hear myself breathe with a shiver, and the phone rings once more. It startles me, jolting every one of my senses, and I pounce for the light switch. I jam my full palm against it, desperate to fight back the watchful eyes all around me.

Light floods the room, and Roxas immediately pulls the covers over his head, shouting at me. But I'm on the floor again, staring into the dark hallway with wide eyes. Surely we've woken up Mom by now. She came home early tonight with Chinese food, harping about bad eating habits and health and something else. The phone rings again.

My heart rate flutters to a semi-normal pace, and Roxas groans from behind me as he gets up. I watch stupidly as he strides across the bedroom and quickly locates the phone, digging it out from under pillows I'd arranged for optimal ps3 playage.

He scowls with frosty eyes as he tosses the phone at me for the second time today.

"It's for you, idiot."

I wonder if it's Tidus calling back about that '_thing_'. I sigh like I've been hanging around Roxas too much, and try and think of something polite to say to him. It's not that I don't appreciate it or I don't want to hang out with him. In fact, it would probably be healthy for me to get out of my house at this point in my social life. The problem has nothing to do with him, really.

"Tidus, I'm not going out with your friends," I say in a monotone. The truth is, I'm tired of him trying to normalize me. My mother seems to be on his side, though; her reason for sending me to therapy was something along the lines of a complete inability to not scare off people when I meet them.

But it's not Tidus on the phone.

"Who? Sora, is that you?" Everyone asks the same thing to me – does my voice warp extremely over the phone or something? The person's words are barely discernible from all the blaring noise in the background. I quickly realise that it's mostly just loud music. There's one other actual voice, shouting something repeatedly.

I recognize the first speaker immediately, and jump at the sound of him. I can't help the grin that spreads on my warming face; I haven't heard this voice in two weeks. I nearly scream his name and hug myself as I do.

He laughs strangely into the phone, and the noises are hurting my ear, but I hold it as close to my head as possible. I don't want to miss if he says anything. The voice of the background is yelling his name, and he turns from the phone to yell back. The noise shuffles to a ceasefire, but rumbles quietly. I recognize it now, too: Aerial Sweep. Blasted annoying, overpopular emo band.

"Sora? Y'still there?" he says to me now. There's something off about the way he's speaking.

I nod energetically.

"Sora?"

Oh, right.

"Yeah, I'm here."

He's laughing at something, talking to someone again. Is he slurring? "Get offa me."

I blink and ask him what he's talking about.

"Eh, not you. Sora? Oh! I wanted to tell you somethin'!" Instead of just telling me, he's waiting for a response, and I can hear voices behind him, laughing loudly. Cackling, even. A closer voice laughs, too, and murmuring an evil chuckle.

"What?" I prod.

"T'morrow, I'm gunna be–!" He gasps suddenly. "Oh my god, cut that out! 'Mm on th' phone –_ fuck…"_

I blink slowly again, and wait for him to finish whatever he's doing. I realise I'm in the middle of the floor, and push myself to the wall so I can lean against it. I can swear I hear a strangled noise come out of his throat. It sounds like he's fighting off a mugger or something.

"S-sora?"

"Yeah?"

"I hafta go – I'll pick you up for Vivi's t'morrow affernoon, 'kay?"

"Okay," I say automatically, but this doesn't make sense to me. I'm about to ask him how on Earth he's going to do that, but he interrupts me. He says something strange.

"Love ya, bye."

He hangs up like a stupid _guy_. Tidus and Roxas do that all the time, they suck at goodbyes. Kairi or Selphie, though, I couldn't get them to shut up if I duct-taped their heads together. I glare at the floorboards and remain with the phone to my ear.

Slowly, the silence clicks and dial tone sounds. Not long after, a recorded voice tells me that if I'd like to make a call, I'll have to hang up and try dialing again.

Roxas is complaining from the general direction of our bunkbeds about idiots calling at two in the morning. He is, of course, exaggerating – the evil red glow of our alarm clock reads 1:43 AM.

-

I'm too tired to figure out how Riku is going to take me to Vivi's when he's still on his spontaneous road trip with his strange, perpetually stoned friends.

The voice reminds me that it is indeed a recording.

-

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**TBC**

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**A/N:** :covers head: KYAA I'm sorry for using the Japanese terms DX DX But I mean, I had them in there 'cause they're Japanese in the story 'cause of the school year anyway, ne? I guess I could have made them Aussie XD but then that would be stupid because KH is a Japanese game anyway so UP YOURS. DX And I'm sorry if ahh ruined Riku for you. I didn't want that to be his grand introduction, but whatevs. Seeing how my only **_beta_**_ (hinthint, people)_ for now is someone whose knowledge of KH is limited to the blobs I drew with my fingertips on a paint program on my laptop on our spare at school, you can't really blame me… (want the picture of the blobs? They were pretty awesome! XD I figured they were fairly accurate for the five minutes it took to draw them… feel free to stalk me XD especially if you want to be my beta...)

**Things that need to be said:** Credit for the poptart stuck on the head goes to **Doriano**, mah dearest little sibling.. I asked for her help, because Sora was turning into a whiney Roxas, and that's what she told me to do XD. Also, **yes, I do read DNAngel** (if you don't automatically understand why I say this, just pretend I said nothing at all and let's continue peacefully :3). Thirdly, about the videogames… I myself am lame as a nerd, so a lot of Sora's games are going to be personal old favourites of mine and you're going to have to learn to deal with that. A ps3 is not something I have touched.. and Dark Resurrection is not something I have played – although, I _am_ one of the most squealy Hwaorang fanboys EVAR and he totally makes the perfect man lover for Jin, screw whatsherbitchface – the Tekken fanfiction is not so great, though.. X3 (/end rant).

**Mindless advertisement:** If you're depressed about how crappy fanfiction can be after reading this chapter, have a stalkery look at **Asper**'s whole three gloriously posted fanfictions. No, none of them are KH… she does Death Note (L makes me have seizures on my keyboard.. for example: ajldifnasdkjvhndfkjhnvfrkjsdhnvjdhgnd OMFG LIEK less than three!), but if you love Hikaru no Go, she has a beautifully written oneshot on Akira/Hikaru (though I myself support Waya/Hikaru… have a good one for me?). I know it's not music this time, but hey… I'm still listening to Amadou and Mariam. **M'Bife Balafon** is the current been-on-repeat-for-three-days song.

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That aside, **R&R so I can have an awesome ego, PLOX kthanx.** And THANKYOUS to those who reviewed last time. X3 I love all.. three of you. hahah.

-lessthanthrees-

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AO


	4. Caput IV: Riku

**--------------**

**Guess-A-Sketch 04**

**AnOtic**

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-

-

I goddamn hate being here. It's the biggest waste of time.

-

There's this laughably short table by the door, with children's seats on either side of it. That's where I like to sit, on the midget table. I have my feet on each of the chairs and my history textbook open in front of me. I reach for the Rainbow Pony eraser, or whatever it's called, and rub the last crappy sentence of my essay into Lethe.

The therapist is sitting in the window armchair. For the most part, he doesn't really bother me. He just lets me get my homework done, which is a pretty good deal. In just one relatively unpainful hour, I can get my dad off my back about two things: a) school and b) the big, bad devil inside me.

Goddamn prick.

I'm thinking about moving out on my own. I was looking at apartments the other day, and I could probably room with Axel. He'd be cool with that, I think.

"Who's Axel?"

Had I said that out loud?

I look over to the psychologist. He's regarding me with that cold, distant look of his. He's got blue eyes, close to the colour of Sora's, but they couldn't be more different. "He's a friend," I say curtly. It almost makes me laugh, but I'm not sure how else to describe our relationship in one word.

I could probably nail it in two words, and call him a fuck buddy.

But that wouldn't be so correct anymore, and I doubt this prim and proper bastard of a therapist would accept that well. He'd probably preach some Christian shit about Jesus rolling over in his tomb every time someone decides to engage in premarital sex.

"Are you and your father still having troubles?"

I give the man a good stare down, even glaring a little. It's really a lot like a game: as long as I stay silent, he'll stay silent, too. The only rules are that if I talk about it, my dad wins; and if I don't, I win. This way, I've been winning for the past month. The idiot just sits there and watches me, as if I'm supposed to say something. I figure I can humour him this time – after all, I've been nothing but rude since I started these "_sessions_", and it's not really the poor guy's fault. He's just doing his job.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

I go back to my history paper. He goes back to whatever the hell it is he does over there. A few moments pass in silence, as the rest of our session has, but I find it intolerable now that I've actually spoken. I look back up, and he's still watching me like a creeper.

"Is it about time-up, yet?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "You've got a good ten minutes to go." Then he turns his head to the side, wonderingly. "If you're done your paper, could you do an Etch-A-Sketch for me?"

I scoff, remembering the toy I'd taken to playing with during my long hours in this hellhole of an office.

"I don't feel like it today," I say boredly.

I cast him another once-over. I don't feel too bad for being a rude little brat, 'cause the guy _is_ getting paid for this. I bet mine is the easiest hour's worth of work he's ever done. A part of me likes the idea that my dad is paying a pretty penny for virtually nothing, 'cause he's a goddamn jackass. Another part of me is just pissed off at the idea of being here. Like there's something _wrong_ with me, that he can just pay someone to extricate it from me.

My history paper has been abandoned on the floor. I'm still watching the counsellor, and his icy blue eyes hold mine. What's his name again? I'm pretty sure it's either Leonhart or Strife – those were the names on the office door. I should know this by now. Mybye his name is Leonhart Strife.

How ugly.

"Doesn't this seem like a waste of time to you?" I surprise myself at how conversational I am today. I suppose I can still win if I just remember to play my hands right. Talking isn't so bad, as long as I keep control of the conversation – I have to be the one questioning.

"Not at all." He shakes his head, smooth and cool, with the same fluid, detached motion that's in his eyes.

"I sit here and do nothing for nearly a full hour twice a week. That's not a waste?" I ask, as full of attitude as ever.

"You do your homework," he says, gesturing towards the textbook on my lap. "That's not a waste."

"Don't you have something better you could be doing? Don't you have like a waiting list of clients?"

The therapist smiles at this. No, he's smirking. 'Smile' is too friendly a word to apply to this guy's facial features. He leans forwards and rests his elbows on his knees; he's damn good at keeping up a stare. "I might be too optimistic in thinking this, but I believe the time you spend here does help you. Whatever your problems are with your family, this is at least an hour of your day that you don't have to deal with it. This is an hour where you can sit in peaceful silence and finish some schoolwork."

I frown. He made that sound cool, somehow.

" 'Whatever my problems are?'You mean, my dad never told you why I'm here?"

He raises a thin, blond eyebrow at me. He doesn't answer, and I understand this to mean 'no'.

A hint of a grin begins to spread on my face. It's kind of ironic: I've been resenting this counsellor heavily for nearly four weeks, for everything he knew about me, for every judgement he probably made about me. It was likely because my father was the one who sent me here that I figured this man was another one just like him.

Intolerant.

But I guess I was the one assuming things about him. I suppose this still doesn't mean anything much. I won't be caught off guard. I can't lose this game.

"What did he say to you?" I ask.

The therapist's cold eyes roll to the side for a moment, to his left. That means he's remembering. "That you're a confused young man, that you're rebellious and refuse to listen to reason, and that you have several issues that you need to work through before moving out into the world next year."

When he finishes he remains staring off to the left. It makes me wonder if he's going to say anything more, but it is quiet for a long time and he just sits there with that stupid, distant look on his face.

"So, what do you think?"

"About what?" He looks to me now, and it's kind of unnerving. I've never spoken so much with him before.

"About my issues," I say in a near mocking tone.

The lines of blond above his eyes both draw downwards, moving towards eachother. He studies me carefully. I wonder vaguely if he's only reciting words my father has given to him for me. Then he speaks, slow and lazy, with a deep voice. "I think if you need to talk about your 'issues', then you will. If you don't, then I think spending time here gives you a good break from your father. Besides, he's the one paying for it, isn't he?"

I think I like his voice. It really has a beautiful sound to it.

I smirk at this. "I'll let my old man know you're scamming him."

He just nods, and looks like a space-out once more. I want to ask him something so he'll speak again with that voice. I like conducting our conversation.

"I'm gay," I blurt.

It takes approximately two miliseconds for my heart to shoot up into my mouth, and I choke on all my inner organs that are dragged with it. I'm rendered speechless, so I can't take my statement back. I can only sit here and wonder stupidly why I had to ruin my chances with that nice voice. Here comes the Jesus speech now. I've shown my cards.

I look back up at him, and he's staring at me with an unreadable expression. They're awful, those eyes. It's like they give frost bite. I notice his knitted sweater, nicely form-fitting I might add, is a deep navy that all along has been accentuating that cold gaze. He looks like he's sick with me.

Then again, you never know what's going on behind that lazy face.

Time seems to be standing still – time should already be up, shouldn't it? He said there was only a few minutes left, didn't he? He's leaning forward still, moves his hand up to rest his chin on. He's thinking, thinking, watching me. I'm going to be the one that's sick. He opens his mouth now, eyes still fixed on me, and speaks in that voice, "Your father… doesn't tolerate this?"

But I'm yelling already. It's hard to stop myself, so my words come out something inarticulately like, "Look, I'm goddamn tired of fucks like y-!You…? What did you just say?"

"He's intolerant, right?"

"Y-yeah." I dumbly answer. I blink, realise that I'm stuttering, and clear my throat, swallowing down my stomach and intestines again. This is not right; he's the one in control right now. I struggle for the reins again. "Did you know?"

He shrugs and stands, stretching with a small yawn. "I can put two and two together is all." He points to my bookbag. "You better get your stuff in order. Time's up."

Then he walks out into the other room.

I linger momentarily, wary of the therapist in the next room. He acts like it's nothing, like it's unimportant. I've just revealed to him my biggest, most painful secret, and he does nothing but walk out on me. He doesn't even address the issue itself, as if it isn't an issue at all. I'm sure he'd like me to believe that. I am aware that someone like him would be after my trust in order to get me to talk, and my trust has to be under heavy guard because of it. This is a part of the game, too; I can't lose after holding out this long.

I glance at the clock, and I'm five minutes late to pick up Sora. We were supposed to go to Vivi's for coffee – it's been two weeks since I've even spoken to him, excluding the awkward phone call last night.

I jam all my crap into my bag and rush out. When I pass the therapist at his desk, he stops whatever he's typing and looks up at me. I have to pause, and I nod to him in a small bow. I'm not sure if I can say anything to him now, but I feel like I should. I flounder on the spot for a moment, summoning the far reaches of my vocabulary.

"Thank you," I manage. Awkwardly, I search for the next words, and I remember that I don't know his name. I risk it with, "Mr. Strife."

He just stares blankly at me for a while, and I wonder if I've gotten his name wrong. Leonhart, then. He must be Leonhart. I'm about to correct myself, and I'm just thinking how odd all of this is. Usually, I merely walk out of here like the arrogant brat I tend to be, without anything resembling a goodbye. But I've realised something about him now, even though I'm not sure what it is.

"My parents immediately kicked me out of the house when I came out."

"Huh?" I ask stupidly. I've never felt more retarded in my life than during this less-than-eloquent conversation with this Leonhart guy now.

"I was fifteen."

It's always disorienting to realise how little you know about a person.

"Good luck, Riku," he says to me.

"Aa, thank you, Mr.–" I'm about to say Leonhart, but he interrupts me.

-

"You can just call me Cloud."

Talking is definitely dangerous.

-

-

-

"_Sora, it's for you_!"

-

The boy in front of me was one I remembered, though barely. He had this what-the-hell-do-you-want kind of expression when he answered the door. His deep, aquamarine eyes were exactly like Sora's, but when they narrowed at me in that way, I knew they couldn't possibly have any relation to those of my closest friend. I know Sora's eyes well. These eyes that turn back to me again now, resting haughtily on me and moving up and down my body, I know they are both the most alike and most unlike things to the source of Sora's gentle, ocean-coloured vision.

"He'll be a second," the boy says to me.

I know his name. Irino Roxas. Sora often speaks of him. His infamous blond hair is in the flipped style customary for your average emo. It's nothing special; in fact, it's fluffed, and messy in an almost organized way. I watch it carefully, wondering why Sora talks about this kid's hair like it's out of a magazine.

Then, I hear Sora's voice bellowing through the small building. The blond in front of me twists slightly to better listen.

"_Who is it?!_" The one inside screams in the same manner his twin does.

The boy Roxas makes a face, annoyed-like, turning to me again. "He wants to know who it is."

"I can tell," I answer cautiously. The blond is still staring me up and down. I have to look down at him because he has Sora's same genes. He's a bit taller, though.

"I'm Riku. I used to hang out with you when we were younger," I offer.

His mouth twists, and his eyes squint a little before relaxing again in an almost stoic way. "I'm Roxas," he says. "I don't remember you."

I nod. It's quiet for a second, then:

"Right. Let me get Sora for you." He turns and sticks the top half of his body through the door, leaning against the wooden frame as he shouts. "_His name is Ricco!_"

"_Who?!_"

"Riku," I supply.

"_Riku!_" It is relayed in Irino-speak.

An incoherent, jumbled shout is returned. Then stomping noises.

"He's happy to see you," Roxas translates for me. I nod again. He opens the door wider, steps aside for me. "I guess if you want, you can come in and wait."

"Aa…" I don't know why this is so awkward. Mybye it's because I'm more of a resident of this house than the little snot in front of me and he's treating me like an absolute stranger. Like I don't have a voice myself, that I can yell at Sora to get his ass down here. Actually, I normally just walk in. However, I decided to be polite on my first day back, and knock like any normal person.

Now this.

"Thanks, but I think-"

Sora chooses this moment to come barelling through the open doorway, and pounces on me. All of his hundred and twenty pounds are thrown at me so hard I almost lose my balance. Luckily, I don't, and I hold my ground, horribly conscious of the blond Roxas' glare as he watches us.

"RIKU! When did you get into town?!"

"Aa…" I can feel him under my hands now, as my arms fall around the boy's waist. Sora's a skinny little guy. My face grows warm as I hold him, and his shining blue depths stare up at me happily. It's an embarassing kind of reunion, especially with the closeby scrutiny of his twin brother.

"I guess you can handle it from here," said brother mumbles, wandering back into the house and leaving us alone on the doorstep.

I step away awkwardly, try to redirect myself properly. I push Sora off of me and stand back with my hands in my pockets, clearing my throat loudly and trying to find a line for conversation. The thought of Vivi's floats to the surface of my mind.

"Are you ready to go, then?"

Sora turns his cute brunet head to the side, curious. "Go where?"

"Aa… didn't I tell you yesterday?"

I can feel my face heat up. I remember calling him, yes. I was a little distracted at the time, and possibly intoxicated. In such a state, I can't be sure what I might have said to him.

Sora screws up his face at me, his eyes rolling slowly over to the left. That means he's remembering. "Yeah, you called at, like, one in the morning."

"_Two_."

Both Sora and I look over through the doorway, where his twin's head is frowning from around a corner. I thought he was gone. The blond glares as he repeats himself. "It was _two_ in the morning," he nods to me.

Then he disappears again into the kitchen.

Sora explains to me in a low whisper, "Roxas is a little grumpy today. He didn't get enough beauty sleep last night."

I suppose that would be courtesy of me and my late-night, under-the-influence phone call, but I decide that I don't want to go there, simply because it would be too annoying to deal with. Emo boy can resent me or whatever he wants; so long as Sora doesn't seem to care, I'll be fine.

Once we're safely in my car – a jet black '68 Camaro, my pride and joy – an awful unease settles in me. Sora is his usual bouncy self, face fresh and cheeks pink from smiling. His eyes have the same spark in them as always; if I'm lucky, he's forgotten the conversation last night entirely. But, thinking about it now, I'm fairly certain that it must have been at best awkward on Sora's end of the line.

The truth is, I'd had a few drinks. Axel had also been passing around a joint for the four of us: me, him, and his buddies Demyx and Marluxia. I'm not really big on dope, I only indulged a little, but I'm sure it was enough to effect me _somewhat_. All in all, I'm pretty sure that I wasn't exactly myself on the phone. That and the fact that Axel had followed me when I left the group, started sticking his hands under my… clothes, while I was trying to talk to Sora. Obviously he'd sufficiently distracted me and I'd forgotten to mention that I was coming home today.

I'm already thinking of excuses now; in all likelihood, Sora's going to ask me about last night. He's going to bring up how strange I'd sounded – probably because I was trying, and failing, to fight off a certain redhead from the fly of my jeans. There's not many excuses I can come up with, either. He's innocent and kind of immature, but despite all appearances I know he's far from an idiot. My potemkin reasons always have to be flawless.

He stops talking now, looks at me seriously, sizing me up, like. I panic for a moment, wondering whether I should have been listening for the last block of his mindless chatter. I start to nod, purse my lips in a way that could be interpreted as anything from 'I understand where you're coming from' to 'I have to go so bad I'm about to piss my pants,' neither of which, of course, is true.

A silence passes for a moment; I pause at a stop sign. As I inch forward a little, taking more care than needed in this perfectly empty street, Sora inhales like he's about to say something. "Riku…" he starts.

I brace myself, deciding at the last minute that I'll skip the dumb act and go with the I-was-about-to-apologize-for-that route. But this is Sora, and I guess it just wouldn't be if I could predict what he was going to say.

With genuine curiosity, he asks, "Have you ever had dreams come true?"

I pause, remember that I'm supposed to be driving, and steer the car forward before answering with a offhanded, "Yeah, sure."

"Really?"

I frown, look over at him. His wide blue eyes are focused solely on me, scrutinizing in a way that makes me feel like I'm under a spotlight. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks and quickly turn my attention back to the road. I can't shake the feeling of that brunet in the seat beside me, watching me with that adorable quizzical look, his innocent, tanned face tipped to the side.

"Yeah, sure," I manage again. I have to clear my throat a little to get it out.

"Hmn…" he replies unevenly.

I feel like I'm supposed to, so I ask, "Why?"

"Well, the other night, I had a dream that my head was full of butter."

This throws me off for two reasons: first, I'd figured that he was talking about dreams as ambitions or wishes; second, the statement was just so randomly _Sora_-ish that it could throw anybody off. I'm not sure what to say, or if I should reply at all. He stays silent for a while, expectant.

"Okay," I say, to show that I've heard him.

He still doesn't reply, and I suddenly realise that we're already passing Vivi's. Goddamnit. I give a rather sharp turn, without any time to use the blinker. The car behind me gives a loud, angry honk while passing, but I just disregard the asshole and put my Camaro in park.

"Thanks, Riku," Sora smiles at me in a way that renders me completely speechless, then unbuckles himself and hops out of the car. After giving myself a quick shake, I reach over to lock his door, and then follow.

He passes silently through the doorway before me, staring dead ahead with a look of contemplation. Right behind him, I notice the strange, hooded cartoon creature hanging above the doorway. Yellow eyes glow out of his obscured, dark face, and he's a squat little thing, painted on the sign that reads '_Vivi's Coffee Shop_'. I don't like him much; Sora does, though. Thinks he's cute. We used to argue about whether or not the creature was Vivi himself, until one day Sora stomped up to the counter and asked.

He'd been right.

The brunet is already ordering himself a hot chocolate by the time I catch up. "Sora," I whisper, jostling him in the side, "hot chocolate is for winter. I invited you out for _coffee_ today."

By now, the aproned idiot behind the counter has frozen midstep with a mug in hand, staring between the two of us. I just smirk at Sora, and he puffs his cheeks at me angrily. He's always hated coffee.

"C'mon, Riku," he whines. "You know I don't need any more universal powers out there trying to stunt my growth!"

Come to think of it, now that I've seen the infamous older version of Roxas, it makes sense that Sora would be so self conscious about his height. By far, he's the shorter twin.

"Coffee is not a universal power," I mutter, butting him out of the way and addressing the confused barista. "House blend, please. I just want it black."

He nods, turns to fetch the drink, and I look back to Sora. "I'm not paying for your hot chocolate, loser. It's either coffee or you're on your own."

"Ehh?!" His amazingly blue eyes widen at me. I have to bite my tongue, hard, and look away from him in order to hold my ground, but he's pulling my sleeve and whining already. Loudly.

One great hassle later, in which I fork over all the cash, we are both seated at a circular little table, me with my lame pick-me-up after a long drive in and a lame therapy session, _which we do not speak of_, and Sora happily clutching his own beverage. He ended up with a steaming Caffè Mocha, extra chocolate. He was leaning over the counter and shouting directions throughout the whole process, and eventually came out with the tiniest shot of caffiene, expense free. I glare at the table and curse my soft spot for the guy.

"So, when did you get back?"

Our eyes meet from across the table, and the look in his eyes nearly makes me choke. He usually doesn't stare at me so much, and I can feel myself flush with warmth at all the attention. Normally, I can handle attention, hell, I bask in it. I can flirt with anyone, guy or girl, but when it comes to Sora I'm nothing more than a flustered little schoolboy, and it just makes me nauseous.

I quickly stare into my coffee mug, sipping it for an excuse even though it's scalding hot. I hold a straight face as my tastebuds slowly melt away – I probably won't be able to taste anything all week – and mumble a reply. "A few hours ago. I would've come to get you sooner, but I had-" _Shit._ I just had to go and open my mouth, didn't I?_ "_-Had to do something for my dad. Y'know, family bonding stuff."

As far as Sora knows, I'm as painfully overachieving and normal as my father wants me to be. Top grades, limitless popularity, athletic and musical at the same time, and most certainly _not_ a current psychiatric patient of one icy-eyed therapist with a perpetual kind of bedhead that's somehow even worse than Sora's. The Strife Leonhart guy, or whatever his name is. Cloud. Yeah, him; he's a secret.

"Family bonding?" Sora tips his head at me again, and it's unbearably cute even though he's already sixteen years old. "When have you and your father ever done family bonding?"

I frown at him, give a disbelieving look to buy myself some time as I come up with a good excuse. Lamely, I mutter, "He just wanted me to move some furniture," into my coffee again. I swallow some more, and can almost hear the sizzle of my tongue dissolving in the magma that is my drink. This time, I can't help but hiss a little and jerk away from the cup.

Thankfully, Sora doesn't seem to notice this. He's laughing at me. "That's what you call father-son bonding, is it?"

"Shut up. Let's talk about something else." I don't mean to sound miserable, but I'm slightly irritable at this point, and I think my tongue is bleeding. Honestly, why is it absolutely necessary to bring some harmless coffee to a tempurature past the boiling point before you serve it to even more harmless people?

Suddenly, Sora's voice interrupts my bitter thoughts. He sniffs at his café mocha, sips a little, all the while staring intently at me. There's something dancing in his eyes, and I even fancy I can see a new colour in there, like the frothy caps of waves. I've never seen a better example of a smile reaching a person's eyes than in Irino Sora's case. He's so easily readable.

"So that dream I had," he says, eyelids blinking cover over those brilliant blue eyes. When they open again, they roll to the side, to the left. That means he's remembering. "When my head was full with butter?"

Right. Here we go again. "Yeah? Did it come true?" I scoff, "Did you get butter in your ear today?"

He scowls for the shortest moment, then looks back to the left. Back to remembering. "No, that didn't happen. But when I woke up, my mom made me a cheese sandwhich."

I blink, stupidly. Something tells me I'm not quite on the same track as him, and he's waiting for another response. Feebly, I give another "Okay?"

"Do you get it?" he asks, cocking his cute head to the side yet again.

Normally, with Sora, I can pretend like I understand long enough to carry a conversation, and we get through it completely with him remaining none the wiser. However, in such circumstances as these, I opt for a blatant negative.

There's no way I could fake my way through this one.

"No, I don't."

"They're both dairy products!" He grins into the silence, like an idiot telling a punchline that's doomed never to be understood. A really lame punchline.

I don't know what to say to that, so I do the only thing I can think of. Abruptly change topics. "So, we have school on Monday, ne?"

He frowns. "Yeah, we do."

"Did you get all your homework done?" I sneer.

"On the first day of break."

"Oh," and I'm stuck again, at a loss for what to say.

"What about you?" He counters. "Did you get it all done?"

My thoughts shift for a moment to the backpack in the backseat of my car, with the unfinished essay inside. It's probably rumpled beyond all legibility by now, with the way I shoved everything in there. Most likely, I'll be up all Sunday night finishing that stupid thing. Other than that, though:

"Of course I finished my homework."

He's giving me a suspicious look, though his eyes are still positively dancing with that confusing emotion, and opens his mouth again to speak. Quickly, I interrupt him. "Do you want a ride to school on Monday morning? We could go together," I offer with a poker face.

The delighted expression in his eyes changes completely and he sits back in his chair. "No, I can't."

"Hmn? Why not?"

Then, while he summons his reply, he bites his lip thoughtfully. I might not have noticed it if it wasn't always a bad habit of mine to pay attention to these things. In fact, I almost don't notice. But then, those amazingly blue eyes shift to the side.

-

To the right.

That means he's lying.

-

-

-

-

**TBC**

**-------**

**A/N:** DUNDUNDUN! (I was told that I needed a "dramatic music sting" at the end…) This wasn't very fun to write. I made Riku really annoying. Sorry, sorry… I really am sorry. Slash, today really sucked. I was dead tired and school sucks and I got caught by my big, big, biggest boss sleeping in the staffroom… ten minutes after my break ended. :goes to console self:

**Things that need to be said: THANKS YOUS OMFG to WhiteLightning**. Gander, you put up with a lot of poo… I appreciate your nicenessness. –lessthanthrees- You should get that really cute haircut I showed you because it's so CUTE! X3

**Mindless Advertisement:** Today's is going to be **Something Beautiful**, by **Great Big Sea**. Why? Because NUMBER ONE: they're Newfie :REPRESENT!:. Number two? I GOT TO FUCKING SEE THEM IN CONCERT even though I wasn't a volunteer for the Canada Winter Games. They're were so kickass live. I mean, one guy whipped out his accordian and all played up in the other guy's face and it was _kickass_. Er… I don't know when this'll be posted, but, yeah the concert was on March 11, their fourteenth BIRTHDAY as a band, so I got help sing a collective kinda Happy Birthday for them and you should be really proud of me. X3 fwee.

**Review and stuff PLOX.** If you don't, it'll be a long time before I can update again.. motivational purposes, you understand. DX

AO


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